


trying out for size

by nicholese



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, First Time, Graves dominates from every angle, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Yeah its, power bottom graves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-10-31 17:07:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10903743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicholese/pseuds/nicholese
Summary: MACUSA's director is a firm believer in leading by example.





	trying out for size

 

Fear cuts right through the heady arousal pooling in his gut. It had started like this: a slow trickle as Graves brought him out for dinner, alone. Graves seemingly taking every opportunity to touch him, fingers brushing as they read the menu, or the indulgent forkful of his own dessert that he'd offered Credence, straight off the plate, each point of contact intensifying the stream, until it turned into a veritable waterfall that he was drowning in. Graves had reached under the table, palming the front of his pants, and made an appreciative sound. Credence was afraid that he'd come right there and then, afraid and excited.

"Aren't we impatient," he'd remarked and withdrew his hand, making Credence buck his hips instinctively and rattle the table. Credence had looked around, mortified but the people nearby seemed completely oblivious. There was only the civilised clinking of glass and silverware, and he noticed too late the blanketing hum of magic. _Bastard_ , he thought indignantly and Graves chuckled.

Outside, they'd kissed, or more accurately set upon each other with a hunger completely unsatisfied by the meal before. Credence had hardly noticed when the dark streets of Eight Avenuewere replaced by mahogany floorboards and blue fleur-de-lys. Graves' house, his bedroom to be specific. 

Now: Credence's coat slides off and his buttons are undoing themselves, skin prickling at the cold air and magic. Graves is similarly being divested of his clothes, eyes fixed on him. He can't tell if it is intimidating or flattering, only that his cock responds with great interest. When they are naked Graves leads them to bed, settles Credence against the headboard and mouths at the juncture of his neck, his jaw, hands steady on his sides. As Credence licks at his lips they rub together, and the velvety-smooth sensation of Graves' cock against his own makes his breath go short and shallow.  

"Has anyone fucked you," Graves murmurs.  

_You're my first anything_ , he thinks and replies in the negative.

"May I then, have the privilege?"  

Credence is caught unawares. The pleasures of the body Graves had introduced to him mainly involve hands or mouths, and never before had Graves requested to use other parts. He eyes the flushed skin between Graves' legs, which usually inspires admiration and maybe a little envy, but the thought of this thing up his ass is alarming to say the least. Hence the fear. 

"Can we just- can I blow you? As usual?" He doesn't dare to meet Graves' eyes. 

"What is it, Credence. Answer my question." There's an edge to his voice, which is even worse. Credence swallows with some difficulty. 

"It's- you" he tries, and the tears come all too easily. _Weakling_ , the dead voice of his mother snarls in his head, but he gladly quashes it. 

Graves is visibly surprised, even gratifiyingly sorry, whispering aplogies and wiping away at his face.  

"I'll make you feel good," he finally says.  

Credence hiccups and looks at him suspiciously.  

"It won't hurt. Much."  

He shakes his head.  

Graves exhales, heavily. There's no disappointment or anger in his face, which Credence is grateful for at least.  

"Sorry," he says, and starts to get up, go to the bathroom. The mood is ruined, except Graves calls him back. 

"Wait," Credence pauses, turns around and realizes that Graves is still very much in the mood. "You're the one who has been wronged. I should apologise instead." 

"Fine." He's glad that Graves' is a gentleman in every way.  

"Perhaps," Graves suggests, "I'll show you what it's like." 

Curiosity wins, and Credence finds himself back on the bed. A small jar of something clear and viscous has been summoned. Unscrewing the lid, Graves coats three fingers of his right hand in the substance, and pushes one inside himself, slowly, sliding in and out with an obscene squelching noise.  

"Preperation," he says, "is key." The dry instructional tone Graves adopts could easily be the same one he uses at work, to order underlings about, oddly out of place in this setting, but then again Credence doesn't know any better.

Watching closely, Credence finds himself getting hard again. It looks uncomfortable for Graves to reach behind himself, so he offers to help. 

He dips his hand into the jar and approaches Graves. The furl of muscle relaxes as he works a finger in and out, in and out. This seems to be the most intimate part that Graves has ever shared with him, a literal soft side, pink and tender. Credence is thankful that his fingernails are regularly trimmed.  

"Add another," Graves breathes. His grip on the sheets is white-knuckled, which neither of them notices. Credence obeys, and speeds up his pace, which Graves seems to enjoy. When he crooks his fingers, brushing against a particular spot, Graves moans, and almost flutters around Credence's fingers rhythmic-like. He's captivated by the movement, by the strange, squirming closeness that's boderline repulsive. 

"Stop." Credence complies immediately. Turning around, Graves braces himself on his knees, back to him.  

"What are you waiting for," he snaps, and Credence scrambles into position.  

It's almost frightening, how easily Graves yields to him; allowing Credence to breach the very center of his being in a smooth wet slide of warmth and pain. 

Pressed against Grave’s back, Credence becomes aware of the heat radiating from Graves, the power contained in the broad planes of his body now carefully restrained, poised blood-hot and thrumming under his skin. The soft hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, like just before a lightning storm; humid air damp with anticipation and the faint tang of ozone. 

“Oh”, he sighs, soft and stupid, and beneath him Graves smiles. 

A much louder sound escapes Credence when Graves rocks his hips, the smooth swell of his ass burying him deeper inside that tight heat, an open invitation for Credence to give into some previously unknown primal instinct, plunge into and out of this artificially slick part of another person, another _man_ with animal frenzy. It was not too long ago that he would have blushed, or knelt down to seek forgiveness at the very though of such an act, awaiting the redemptive sting of leather; but now pleasure clouds his whole mind, soul and heart, overfills his very being. Graves arches his spine, muscles visibly moving to gives Credence better access, another angle into his very self and he eagerly takes it. It works, nudging the secret place and Graves clenches down hard, hot flesh pulsing, sending dizzying waves of sensation over Credence’s cock. He wants to cry out for the feel of it, but the breath is continuously stolen from his throat, leaving him panting, whimpering in agony. The world has narrowed down to the space between Graves' legs, the intersection of sweat slick flesh, yet he's never been overwhelmed like that, hyperaware of his own body and the embrace of another. Perhaps he's realizing the divinity of fornication, of two joined into one flesh. 

Credence has to come so badly it hurts. He stills, afraid of undoing himself in the next second without permission, dirtying Graves. 

“Hey,” Graves’ ragged voice is low and comforting. “Why did you stop." 

“May I-” he whispers. Sweet, and gentle like a prayer, but with a fevour absent even in his confessionals from another life.  

Graves moves viciously against him in answer and Credence _melts_ , spilling white and fervid into the other man, the sensation evoking surprise in both of them. His cock twitches wetly once, twice, wrenching spasms of pleasure that whites out his vision. As he pulls away from Graves the vivid splash on his pale skin does not shock him, or elicit shame, a fact that is surprising unto itself. There is only a deep satisfaction permeating his bones, as if being inside Graves has lent him a similar air of confidence through some arcane, carnal alchelmy. 

He presses a thumb against Graves' entrance, circles around the shiny reddened flesh and slides the digit home. Incredibly, it takes mere seconds for Graves come, dick totally untouched. 

Later, Graves watches as Credence brushes his teeth. The toothpaste is nice, tasting of strawberries and nonsensically enough, like second chances. He spits, pink foam clouding his polished brass reflection.  

"Thanks." Graves sounds tired, mortal once again. 

"I'll take your word for it," Credence replies. 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> First work. Judge as ye please.


End file.
